By The Sword: An Arena Tale
by Big Zane
Summary: Follow the tale of a young warrior's quest to become the Grand Champion of the Imperial Arena. During the way he makes friends, enemies, and uncovers a sinister plot to that may affect every citizen of Cyrodill. He finds the true enemy however, is often not the one across from you weilding a sword. Pre and during Oblivion Crisis. OC/Branwen. Rated T for violence and adult content.
1. Baptism by Fire

**((Now unto my first Oblivion fanfic. Based on my own Redguard character if he were a normal gladiator and not fated to become the hero of kvatch. If you have any OC gladiators that you would like to see fighting alongside my character on the blue team please feel free to leave a comment with the details, note that they are only twelve spots. I intend for every character to be completely fleshed out. Enough chatter unto the story. Read, Enjoy, Review.)) **

It took a very odd sort of person not to be impressed with the Imperial Arena. The large open building was certainly an architectural marvel. The coliseum loomed up above as far as the eye could see with the age stained white marble gleaming faintly in the midmorning sunlight. Ironically the area which was essentially a cesspit of violence and death was one of the most beautiful parts of a beautiful city. The Arena district itself consisted of perfectly manicured gardens, overburden fruit trees, polished statues of Arena founder Gaiden Shinji, and marble fountains which lazily spewed blue water. Many who had no taste for the bloody sport within the arena still lolled around enjoying the magnificent grounds. The only thing missing from the tranquil atmosphere was silence. Even from outside the Arena the thunderous sound of cheering and groaning in equal parts echoed as thousands of people cheered on or mourned for their favorite combatants.

Despite the early hour scores of people made their way along the cobbled stone path leading to the Arena's entrance in pairs or groups, they all chattered and murmured excitedly. That is all except one. The particular youth in question wore neither a look of happiness nor excitement that was uniform to everyone else heading towards the Arena; but instead he wore a scowl of resolve and determination. He strode along alone and unapproachable, his nervousness was revealed in the tremble of his upper lip and the hunched set of his shoulders. He was tall and strapping, the hard lines of his muscle showing through the cheap brown tunic that he wore. Despite that the youthful cast to his smooth hairless face exposed him as one who had not yet seen sixteen summers. Where almost all the people around him had pale skins, the hide of the youth was a shade of dusky brown. He looked out at the world from eyes of ebony black. His hair, which was cut so low that you could see his scalp, was of the same color.

The youth was dressed in clothes that would not have been out of place on any commoner; brown sleeveless tunic, baggy white trousers, and leather sandals. A burlap sack was slung over one of his shoulders and fastened with a length of rope and a gold hilted sword sheathed in a plain scabbard of black wood hung on his right hip. The youth was covered from head to toe in a film of dust and grime and his sandals were well used and threadbare. The journey from Water's Edge to Imperial City had taken him a little over two weeks and it had been fraught with peril. The youth shivered as he thought back to the numerous close encounters that he had encountered, everything ranging from escaping a ravenous pack of wolves to a deadly battle with a pair of bandits. He was bone-weary and hungry to booth, his last meal had been the previous night, but now that he had finally arrived within reach of his destination he couldn't bring himself to rest. The Arena was everything that he had been expecting and more.

His joyful contemplation was interrupted when he saw that near the steps leading up to the entrance of the Arena a group of people had gathered. Curiosity peaked the youth diverted and joined the throng. He used his big stature to push to the forefront much to the chagrin of many. At the center of the circle he saw two people squaring off in the middle of a blood and sweat stained mat. One was an attractive young woman. She was tall and wiry, her arms and stomach were corded with muscles. Her complexion was dusky as well although she was lighter than the observing youth. She had prominent cheekbones, a crooked nose, and cobalt blue eyes. Her midnight hair was done up in a practical bun from which a few strands had escaped and stuck to her forehead with sweat. A breasts band and a pair of tattered looking burlap trousers were all that protected her modesty. Her opponent was not someone that the youth would relish meeting in a dark alley. He, the youth was sure it was male, was shorter than the woman but more muscular. He was also covered from head to toe in crimson scales. He also had a long sinewy reptilian tale and slitted lizard like eyes that were a weird shade of amber. He was an Argonian, one of those strange lizard folk from the fabled Black Marshes. The youth had only seen a handful of them in his life and he still found them no less repellent than the first time he had clapped his eyes on one.

"Branwen and Saliith." A swarthy man standing before the youth told his companion. "They go at it every morning. Still fun to watch though. And that Branwen got a bosom to her no?"

Branwen and the Saliith went at each other hand to hand. Incredible as it seemed they were evenly matched. While the Argonian was undoubtedly stronger and had two hands as well as a tail to attack with the woman was much faster. The crowd stood around shouting both advice and insults in equal parts. The young man watched for a minute before turning and continuing on his journey to the Arena. There could be no distraction from his goal. Not now.

The youth allowed a brief grin too cross his broad face as he passed under the great arch entrance and ended up in the spacious lobby of the Arena. He took a second to look around. The inside of the place was as grand as the outside. It was all marble and stone and everything was gleaming white. The lobby was packed the capacity with happily chattering people. Vendors could be heard shouting their wares over the general hubbub of the crowd.

"Vension on a stick! Get your fresh vension on a stick! Enjoy the match with your favorite snack! Roasted with the finest spices brought all the way from Morrowind!"

"Apples! Apples right here! The best batch from Applewatch!"

"Surilie's best! Vintage 399! Only twelve septims a goblet!"

The youth jostled his way through the crowd and made his way to the forefront of the room. He looked around for any sign or clue to his destination and seeing none decided that he would have to ask someone. He figured that the flustered looking man standing in one corner of the room had the look of an Arena official. As the youth approached him he took in the man's features. The man was shorter than him by a full head and had pale skin. He also had tapered ears and hair the color of ripened wheat. He was dressed rather richly and clutched a large scroll. The youth figured him for a Breton.

"Welcome Redguard." The man called as soon as he noticed the youth walking up to him. "My name is Hundolin. Bet Master for the Arena. Would you like to make a wager? The odds today are excellent."

"No." The Redguard youth replied after a slight hesitation.

"Oh?" Hundolin replied with an arched eyebrow. "If you're here for payment for the current fight then you're too early."

"No."

"Then how can I be of assistance?" Hundolin's tone was clipped and carried the edge of annoyance. It was obvious that he thought the youth before him was wasting his time.

"Where do I join?" The Redguard youth asked firmly.

The Bet Master gave a start and looked at the Redguard before him incredulously. Surely he could not mean joining the Arena. He was no more than a mere boy! He said as much but the youth fixed him with a death glare and said not a word.

"Okay!" Hundolin blurted out after a few seconds. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Okay. Suit yourself. If you want to become a combatant you need to speak to Owyn. He's usually in the blue sector of the Bloodworks. Staircase leading down to the very end of the room on the left side."

"Thank you." The youth said with a nod of head.

He turned and picked his way through the crowd, making for the Bloodworks.

* * *

The first thing to hit him upon the descending the stairway into a gloomy and dank passageway was the smell. The cloying metallic stink of blood was one that the youth was quite familiar with. He turned a corner and the passage opened up into a large chamber. The source of the scent was revealed with only a few steps into the chamber. The reason the warren was known as the Bloodworks became quite apparent. It was simply coated in blood. The crimson splashes of gore were everywhere; streaked along the walls and dripping from the grimy ceilings to form many tiny puddles on the roughly hewn stone floor. It was as if the very room itself had taken a fetal injury and was bleeding its life away. The scent was so overpowering that the youth felt bile in the back of his throat. He viciously fought it down. Only two torches provided faint luminescence but the torches casted more shadows than light, this combine with the running blood made the place seem like something from a Dremora's most twisted dreams. The Redguard accidentally stepped into a puddle of sanguine and left a bloody trail as he ventured further into the place looking around uncertainly. The scent in that section was especially pungent; beside the smell of blood there was also the sour odor of sweat, unwashed laundry, rust, and spoiled food. He flinched as a drop of blood fell unto his shoulder and ran down his arm. It was as cold as a witch's tear.

While he continued exploring he heard the muted sound of cheers presumably from the Arena battleground above, however the metallic ding of blade upon blade resounded from much closer. There was also the periodic twang of a bowstring and the frequent thud and grunt of fist striking flesh. It only took the Redguard a minute to hone in on the sounds and he soon found himself standing in what could best be described as a large practice room. This room was more brightly lit than any of the other rooms he had passed and practice mats were placed on the floor at frequent intervals. Five wooden targets were aligned neatly against one wall and there were racks of weapon lined neatly against the wall behind it. One corner of the room was dedicated to large stone weights and practice dummies in various stages of damage were everywhere. Four open doorways including the one he had just stepped through led from the room and into other parts of the Bloodworks. It was obvious that the room saw no lack of usage. As if to demonstrate that it was presently occupied by a dozen people. The youth stared at them slightly nervous, a meaner looking group of people he had never encountered. Two bare-chested men stood in the center of the practice area fighting unarmed much in the same manner as the Argonian and the woman were in the Arena courtyard above. They were both covered in sweat, blood, and bruises but neither showed any sign of stopping. Four other men and a woman worked on some practice dummies with various weapons. Another man was in one corner along doing pushups while three more men were in the weights area doing strength exercises with various weights. The last person was the closest to the Redguard and he stood shooting arrows into one of the wooden targets with a single-minded intensity. The young Redguard envied the smooth three step motion that the fellow before him effortlessly performed; draw an arrow, knock it, and fire it. It was obvious the man was no stranger to archery.

The youth noted that the man was also no man. He was short but finely muscled and had skin even darker than that of the Redguard's. The archer also had eerie glowing red eyes and long coal black hair that was done into a hasty ponytail. He was a Dunmer, a Dark Elf. The archer stopped plying his trade as the young Redguard approached. He looked at the youth in open curiosity.

"You're a long way from your arena seat friend." He told the youth when he had come within earshot. "Are you lost?"

The young Redguard visibly stiffened and his dark face flushed in anger. He fist clenched and he fought the overwhelming urge to smash the Dunmer's face in with a right hook. He was sick and tired of being doubted and underestimated. He was sick and tired of the involuntary disdain held by many while they interacted with him. He would show them all though when he became Grand Champion of the Arena.

"I'm not lost nor am I an observer." The youth growled. "I'm here to join."

The Dunmer immediately looked at the boy in a different light. Boy he was too, the Dunmer knew that this one before him could not be even a fraction of the Dunmer's age. But the determined cast to the youth's eyes was not to be ignored or disdained.

"My apologies friend." The Dunmer male rested the bow against one leg and extended a calloused hand for a shake. "I can see that I have given offense. I meant no insult. Only that to see one as young as you this far in the Bloodworks is unusual."

"Its of no matter." The young Redguard grudgingly replied as he grasped the Dunmer's hand for a brief shake before releasing. His pride was still pricked by the older male's words but he was smart enough to not follow up the situation when the Dunmer had already apologized.

"Many of the children dream of becoming Champion of course." The Dunmer continued jovially. "And quite a number of actually do work up the courage to try and compete. But the bloody walls and dripping ceiling are usually enough to snap them out of their reverie."

The young Redguard suppressed a shiver. If the blood was intentionally put in place to discourage the faint of heart they did a very good job indeed.

"Where can I find Owyn?" The youth asked eagerly.

"First doorway." The Dunmer said jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "The name is Oriel Danrendys by the way. Blue Team Gladiator. Goodluck with Oryn. He's not the easiest sort to get along with."

The youth grunted his thanks and walked across the room to the doorway that was indicated. He received a couple of curious stares but no one told him anything, for that the youth was thankful. The doorway that Oriel had showed him led to another room that was thankfully devoid of blood. It appeared to be a cross between a smaller practice room, living quarters, armory, and office. Sleeping bags that appeared ragged but clean were neatly aligned in one corner, in another corner were several racks of weapon similar to the racks of weapons outside in the practice room as well as several large closets. A single practice dummy was in the center of the room and a large woman was brutalizing it with an equally large war hammer. Two other occupants were in the room; a wizened old lady who sat directly under a torch peering over a large book and a tall solid looking man with a permanent scowl. When the youth entered the room the old lady did not even glance up from her ledger but the woman warrior that was battering away at the practice dummy stopped briefly to give him a wilting glare. She quickly dismissed him as insignificant then returned to her axe work.

The man who the youth assumed to be Owyn looked at him with an expression that bespoke one who was completely unimpressed. He saw that the older man was just as tall as he was and even broader, though that could have been due to the heavy iron platemail that Owyn was decked out in. The older man also had the telltale brown hide of the Redguard. His dark hair was going gray at the roots but his brown eyes were still as sharp as ice picks. There were severe lines around Owyn's face which told one that he was a man more used to frowning than smiling. For the first time the youth felt nervous. Thoughts that had bedecked him through his entire journey reared their ugly heads then. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he was too young? What if they did not even allow him to compete? He tried his best to quell his racing mind as he approached the older Redguard, but before he could open his mouth Oryn spoke first.

"I don't know who you are friend, but you've got about ten seconds to tell me what you're doing in my Bloodworks before I lop your arms off."

There was no threat in Owyn's deep self-assured voice, only a grim certainty and that was even more frightening. The youth felt his throat go dry as he faced the older Redguard but yet he managed to keep his voice steady.

"I'm here to join the Arena."

Owyn looked at him incredulously then burst out into peals of laughter. He tossed his head back and his great shoulders trembled with his mirth. The youth's nervousness evaporated like mist under sunlight and was replaced with rage just as hot and fiery. He glared daggers at his older kinsman and gnashed his teeth in unbridled fury but the gesture did not faze Owyn in the least. He continued chuckling.

"Kid, listen to me." Owyn said wiping away tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Don't call me kid!" The youth snapped.

"I'll call you what I damn well please." Owyn replied coldly, his good mood already disappeared. "So long as you are in the Bloodworks you play by my rules. And one of those rules is that I can call hothead upstart babes whatever the hell I want."

The youth fought the overwhelming urge to draw his blade. Getting into a fight with the blademaster was no way to start your new career.

"Now as I was saying do yourself a favor and go home. Go play at being a warrior someplace else where the stakes aren't so high. You'll thank me for this one day when you're old and gray."

"No." The youth said with a fierce scowl. He folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground. Two weeks he had traveled. A two week journey which had been fraught with perils and hardships every step of the way. There was no way in Oblivion that he would go back home without even stepping foot on the arena ground. He had come here to join the Imperial Arena as a combatant and the bastard of a blademaster was _not _going to stop him.

"Do you have cotton in the ears boy?" Owyn demanded. "I told you no! I would not have the slaughter of a child on my conscious. Come back in a few years when I can send you to your death without a qualm if you are so insistent for your share of Arena glory."

"Do you have cotton in your ears old man?" The youth shouted back. "I told you no. I came too far for this. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything. I'll be damned before I let the likes of you keep me from achieving my goal!"

He stood there his fiery glare locked with the ice cold stare of the blademaster in a battle of wills. The young Redguard was determined not to be bested, he kept up the staring game for so long that his eyes watered. Finally Owyn chuckled softly once more before speaking.

"I should rip your lungs out and feed them to you for your insolence." He said. "But fine, if you want in then you've got in. Suicide is the right of any man… or boy."

A broad grin spread across the youth's face as joy and relief flooded his body. He fought off the overpowering urge to give Owyn a hug, a gesture that he was relatively sure would have ended with him receiving a split skull from the well used long sword at the blademaster's side. He was in! The youth felt dizzy, giddy as he was with joy.

"Thank you blademaster." He chattered out excitedly. "You won't regret! When do I start?"

"Believe me in a few you won't be thanking me or you will be in no position to do so at all." Owyn said with another of his scowls. "And you start right now."

_Right now? _The smile slightly fell from the young Redguard's face but he kept his composure. He refused to allow the older Redguard to see him flustered even though the tinges of nervousness had returned. He had never dreamed that he would be thrown into the arena immediately, he had been sure it would have taken a few days at least for everything to be set into place. A few days that he could have desperately used to rest his tired body and recoup his full strength. He did not relish fighting in his present condition but still it didn't appear that he had a lot of choice of the matter, and a bad start was better than no start at all in the youth's opinion.

"Who am I fighting?" The youth asked slipping the sack from his back and rolling his muscular shoulders to try and get some flexibility back into them. Owyn gave him a look of approval.

"You've got some heart pit dog, I'll give you that. Lets see if its enough to keep your head attached to your shoulders. Its amateur hour right now, your opponent is one of them tree hugging wood elf pricks who fancy himself a swordsman. Kind of like you."

The young Redguard's brows furrowed at that but he ignored Owyn's jibe, choosing to focus instead on what little he knew of the wood elves. He had hunted with one as a child and so he was no stranger to their ways. Bosmer were they correct names if he recalled correctly, and they were no mean fighters. They were almost as small as children but naturally faster than all but the most athletic men. In short, exhausted as the youth was this would not be an easy contest.

"Go get yourself suited up from those cabinets. Do you know the rules of the Arena?"

The youth shook his head to indicate that no he did not know. He had been hearing of Arena battles since he was a babe but oddly enough no one had ever mentioned the rules. It took Owyn a minute to explain everything and a minute after that the young Redguard was rummaging through the cabinets looking for some arena raiment, according to Owyn though he could use his own arms everything else had to come from the arena armory. The Redguard noted that all the suits of raiment were battered and most showed dried blood, he wondered offhandedly how many owners now dead and buried they had passed through. He gave a silent prayer to Akatosh that he wouldn't become one of those statistics. They were two forms of Arena armor and though identical one sort of set was definitely heavier and denser than another. The youth understood the concept: one was designed in the form of light armor and the other was designed in the form of heavy.

He mentally weighed all the pros and cons of both sets. The only armor experience that he had was with light armor, heavy had been far too expensive to even dream of, but the problem with light armor was that it sacrificed protection for speed and mobility. Against an opponent such as a Wood Elf this would be a pointless gesture. Opting for the extra protection he went for the heavy raiments instead. The armour was simple but practical. A fused cuirass and pauldrons over a knee length blue smock of thick heavy wool. There were also undergarments of the same material and color. Both the underwear and the smock had adjustable buckles and straps so as to securely fasten them. The youth winced at that as he stripped off his travel stained clothing and began donning the armor, he would have been much more comfortable if his nether regions could have been protected by something a bit sturdier than thick cloth. He wrapped his forearms in thick handwraps before donning a pair of matching pitted metal vambraces. The last piece of the set was a pair of black shin length leather sandals that were studded with tiny blunted iron spikes. He topped it off by attaching his sword to his waist. The youth straightened up, he was ready for battle. Just being in the armor gave him back some of his vitality, he wondered if it was enchanted.

"Last archway at the end of the practice room." Owyn grunted when the youth approached him after he had finished armoring up. "Stairway all the way up to the arena grounds. Get to it. Give the people of Cyrodil a good show and I'll insure that you have a decent funeral at least."

The youth ignored Owyn's parting jibe and stalked from the room his shoulders stiffened. His stomach fluttered and his hands were trembling. He was nervous of course but he was in equal parts excited. This was it. This was his big moment. He made his way through the still packed practice room and this time he drew a few curious glances from his fellow combatants. The youth ignored them all, his mind was fixed on much more important thoughts. The last archway led into a foyer that was empty of anything but a glowing fountain. He passed it without a second glance as preoccupied as he was. The pivotal moment of his life was just one staircase away. Then a few steps. From the time he was a boy all he had ever wanted to be was a champion of the arena. He had listened eagerly to every traveler that had ever passed through his village discussing intense battle. He had read every tidbit that he could find in the Black Horse Courier. Most all of his childhood games had been reenactments of great arena fights. This time it would be no playacting though, this time he was not a child and the swords would not be wood but it would be real. The youth paused before an aged oak door and took a deep breath.

"Its time." He muttered. With that he pushed the door and entered into the arena proper.

* * *

The door led into a long narrow tunnel that was stone like most other parts of the arena. The jubilation of the crowd seemed to vibrate from the very stone beneath his feet. With one hand riding on his sword hilt and another clenched so tight into a fist that his nails dug into his palm drawing blood the youth strode down the narrow tunnel. From above he heard the muted sound of a mighty crowd. At the end of the dim tunnel daylight glimmered. _The light at the end of the tunnel, _The youth thought in grim humor as he reached the end of the passageway. He climbed up four steps and found himself standing before a large metal grille. He tried it but not to surprise it didn't budge even an inch. Peering past the grill revealed the arena pit. Seeing nothing for it the youth shrugged and decided to wait. Sure enough a few minutes later a voice resounded around the arena.

"_Good people of the Imperial Arena! Its time for another amazing bout of bloody battle! At this time we have fresh faces for you. Welcome the two latest additions to the Arena! Today we will see two pitdogs square off and as usual only one will live to fight for glory another day. Who will take the day? The blue team or the yellow team? Combatants! Ready yourself!" _

The grate began rising in a racket of groans and creaks. As soon as it was high enough the youth ducked under and charged out into the pit. The noise of thousands crowded into an enclosed area washed over him. The jubilation of the masses seemed to vibrate up from the very sands and into his bones but he ignored them. The people no longer existed in his world. Behind him the grate clanked back down with a very pronounced sound. It only took the Redguard a second to take in the pit. There really was nowhere to run. The fifteen feet smooth stone wall that formed the ring was only broken by two iron grates on opposite sides of the arena, one of which the youth had just exited from. Dotted around the grounds were stone fireplaces where the youth presumed that watchfires were lit for the night fights. Churned and trampled sand that had once been yellow but that was now pink covered the ground. The young Redguard knew that before the hour was out the sand would be just a bit pinker and the Bloodworks below would enjoy another coating.

The youth saw the Bosmer sprinting towards him as if in slow motion. The Wood Elf looked almost exactly as the young Redguard had predicted. He was small and wiry, his long yellow ponytail streamed out behind him as he ran. The Wood Elf was dressed in similar getup to the youth's but his was obviously light raiment and his also sported a yellow doublet where the Redguard's was blue. A crude yet effective iron helmet covered the Wood Elf's head and a dinged shield was attached to one arm while the other clutched a wicked looking long sword. The youth's blood went cold. That shield and helmet was enough to make every difference. Yet even those dire thoughts were not enough to hold him back. With a great yell the youth drew his sword; it came free with a smooth flourish. Three feet of Elven steel gleamed in the midmorning sunlight. Along the flats of the blade images of dragons chasing mounted knights were wrought within the metal. The beauty of the blade could not detract from its purpose however, the pitted but still razor sharp edges spoke for themselves. The youth clutched it in a two-handed grip and raced forward to meet the Bosmer.

The two met in the center of the pit in a shower of sparks and a thunderous din. It was the youth that had pressed the offense; he had swung for the Bosmer's head with all his power. It was a decapitating blow without a doubt but the Elf's superior speed save his life when he brought his shield up to intercept the Redguard's blade. The impact jarred the youth to his teeth but he immediately drew his sword back and thrust for the unprotected ankle of his opponent. With unbelievable grace the Elf leapt up, avoiding the blow, while simultaneously whipping his sword around in an arc at the youth's face. The Redguard staggered back narrowly avoiding having his throat slashed from ear to ear. The youth circled to the left, his body turned to the side so as to present a smaller target. It was everything that the young Redguard had feared: the Wood Elf was faster, better equipped, and more experienced. He suspected that the only reason he wasn't as yet dead was that the Elf had initially held back in a bid to gauge the strength of his opponent, now that the Elf knew the Redguard's capabilities the youth knew that the Elf would go all out and try the finish the fight as quick as possible. It was what he, the youth, would have done. As if in answer to the youth's thoughts the Bosmer charged.

With a determined scowl the young Redguard once again moved forward to engage him, if it was to be his faith to meet the Nine this day then he would give as good an account of himself as he could give before he exited the mortal coil. The two once again met in a flurry of blows. The youth poured his all into his assault. He might have done better baiting the Bosmer and playing a waiting game until eventually the Elf tired and made a mistake, but he quickly dismissed that idea. Even in the face of a superior opponent he was not a defensive fighter, he was a Redguard and it was in his nature to take war to the enemy. His moved with tigerish strength and ferocity, his blade a blur of steel as he laid into the Wood Elf. Slashes, chops, and hacks; he employed every move in his arsenal in his bid to maim and kill. But where the Redguard was a tiger the Bosmer was a cheetah. The Elf danced upon the sand as light as a feather. Each of the youth's blows either met with open air or an unyielding shield and for every slash of the Redguard's sword two were forthcoming from the Bosmer's own weapon. Despite his initial burst of ferocity after only a few minutes the youth was inevitably forced back, chest heaving and sweat streaming down his body.

It was the break that the Wood Elf had been waiting for.

"I'll rip your lungs out and feed them to you boy!" He called as he increased the pace of his attack. _What's with gladiators and ripping people's lungs out?_ The boy thought offhandedly even as he gasped and stumbled under the renewed assault. The Elf's sword was everywhere at once; it was as if the Bosmer wielded four blades instead of one. Oblivion gates the Elf was fast! His breath came in rapid breaths now as he struggled to keep up his blocks and his parries. Every time the Wood Elf's sword impacted his own his shoulders now trembled and the blade was almost knocked from his hand. His strength was fading fast now and he knew it. The youth howled in agony when the Wood Elf managed to beat his way through his defenses and his blade pierce deeply into the Redguard's left arm, right between his vambrace and pauldron. The blade bit deeply into flesh but the young Redguard leapt backwards before the Bosmer could increase force and literally disarm him. As it was it was still a serious enough injury. The youth staggered back cradling his injured arm to himself and glaring with the eyes of a wounded animal. For the first time since engaging he became aware of the cheers and jeers from the crowd. It sank in more than ever that it was very likely he would die there. In his very first arena match he would die as an unmarked and unlamented pitdog. The thought was simply unacceptable. There was one last option available to him. One that he had not used for some time. It was the last resort of any Redguard, but was he ready for such an all or nothing strategy?

"Hurts doesn't it?" The Bosmer chuckled as he stalked forward weaving his sword back and forth in a very intimidating manner. "Burns doesn't it? Savor that pain. It will be your last sensation. The Arena is no place for a boy."

* * *

There was no pity in the Wood Elf's eyes as he approached. There would be no mercy there on the sands of the Arena. The youth decided then that his last option was simply his only option. With that he lowered his sword and closed his eyes. His brows furrowed in effort as he concentrated.

The Wood Elf stepped forward raising his sword for the kill. It was to be his third fight in as many days. After this no longer would he be a pitdog, he would advance to the Arena rank of brawler. That meant better pay. It was the money that he desperately craved. In his life he had done some things that he was definitely not pleased with. This day would be chief among those things in the future. He cursed the circumstances that had brought him so far from his home in Valenwood. He cursed the moneylenders that had forced him to this, little more than a hired murderer who slaughtered children for the amusement of bloodthirsty barbarians. The slaying of one so young came not easy to this Bosmer but he steeled his heart. It was well known that there was only reward for failure in the Arena. The boy could not have been ignorant to the possibility_ nay likelihood_ that his glory jaunt on the sands would end in his death. There could be no mercy.

With a yell of triumphant the Bosmer brought the blade down in a blow designated to cleave the skull of his opponent in twain. Much to his surprise his sword did not meet a body and instead thudded deep into the bloody sand. In a burst of unbelievable speed that he did not possess a second ago the youth easily hurled himself to the left avoiding the attack completely. He glowed faintly and his eyes no longer showed pain but instead revealed a deep-seated resolve…..and confidence. The Bosmer's eyes narrowed and he gave a lighting quick thrust of sword for the Redguard's midsection but again the youth easily avoided it. What in the name of Oblivion was going on? The Elf wondered. He had no more time for any such thoughts for he saw the reflection of the enemy's sword flashing from the corner of his eye. The Elf managed to get his shield up just in time to keep himself from being cut clean in two from the shoulders. He gritted his teeth as what felt like a battering ram crashed directly unto his shield; the blow actually pushed him a few inches back though he had braced his feet. He had no time for a reprieve as he was instantly force to raise the shield above his head, narrowly stopping the Redguard's sword from splitting his helm. Again the blow which impacted his shield was unbelievable in its power. Pain flared up his arm as his wrist broke with a crunch like someone biting in celery. The Bosmer howled in pain and surprise and struck out with his sword trying to keep his tormentor at bay. He locked blade with the Redguard and they stood struggling for a second before the youth easily sent him stumbling almost a foot backwards.

Terror raced through the Bosmer's mind. It was as if his opponent had become an avatar of Talos himself. His mind was still in shock that this was the same boy he had soundly beaten just moments before even as his body automatically reacted to the threat. The very same boy now came on like an inexorable tide. The Bosmer could do no more than withdraw behind his shield as each ferocious sword strike rendered it further and further into twisted scrap metal. Then suddenly the Bosmer stumbled and fell forward without knowing why he had fallen. Panic blossomed in the Wood Elf's chest, he who fell in battle most likely rose in the Nine's embrace. He had to regain his feet. He managed to roll over unto his back and prepared to leapt directly unto his feet, a move that he had done a thousand time. But laying on his back and looking down the length of his body showed him he no longer had feet to leap unto as his left leg now ended above his knee. The Wood Elf looked on uncomprehendingly at the wound which was pouring a river of blood out unto the sand. With his body still numbed from shock there was no pain.

"When did that happen?" He muttered softly.

The world darkened as he was cast into shadows. He looked up and saw the young Redguard looming over him like a giant clutching the sword which still dripped with the Wood Elf's blood. The blue glow had disappeared from the youth and he had sagged in on himself, his face was lined with deep fatigue and he looked ready to keel over at any moment.

"Looks like I lost." The Wood Elf said with a high-pitched chuckle.

"Looks like." The young Redguard agreed in a hoarse voice before plunging his sword deep into the Wood Elf's chest. The light rainment was no match for the heavy blade which cut through it like butter. _It should be more painful,_ The Bosmer thought in an unattached manner as he stared at the glimmering steal which pinned him to the ground. It was the Bosmer's last thought before he slipped into the blackness.

* * *

The Redguard youth slumped to his feet his chest heaving. He fought off the darkness which swam at the edge of his vision. The Adrenaline Rush was a trait shared by all Redguards. It was the ability to marshal all of one's mental and physical strength into augmenting the body's natural physical abilities far beyond what would regularly be possible. Calling upon Adrenaline Rush a Redguard was capable of magnificent physical feats but it was a gift that few Redguards chose to utilize in a life and death situation. Like most things in life Adrenaline Rush had a trade off. The effects only lasted for precisely one minute and the experience left one exhausted to the point of passing out. The youth's limb shook as if he suffered from the ague, he felt as if though he had marched nonstop for a week. Yet he forced himself back to his feet and withdraw his sword from the body of the deceased Bosomer, it came free with a wet squelch. With a grimace he sheathed the blade; he would have to service it at the earliest possible moment. Now that the danger had passed the cheering of the crowd that he had been ignoring while in contact washed over him like warm water. He allowed himself a moment to savor it, basking in the adoration of a thousand people. It was an amazing feeling; here was the glory that he had desperately yearned!

"_There you have it! Another exciting conclusion! The blue team underdog pulls off a very close win in this startling upset. Blue team combatant you may return to the Bloodworks and rest." _

The young Redguard thought that was a splendid idea. With a last look at the dead Bosomer he turned and made his way back to the now raised grille which led down into the Bloodworks. The youth stumbled down the corridor and through the oak door in a painful daze, the exhaustion coupled with the renewed pain from his wounded arm was almost unbearable with withdrawal of adrenaline. He forced himself to continue however, the arena was no place for weakness of any kind. A sad tale it would be if he survived the fight die in a corner of the Bloodworks. A bit further he had come back into the foyer room that contained only the fountain. Looking at the cool water he realized how thirsty he really was. His throat was positively parched. The young Redguard stumbled to the fountain and began taking deep draughts of the cold clear liquid. When he finished his drinking he couldn't resist splashing some unto his face and around his neck. Much to his surprise he felt completely rejuvenated, he felt even better than he had felt before the fight. What's more the raging agony of his arm had faded into an almost nonexistent ache. Unbelieving the youth loosened and removed the vambrace to check the wound. There no longer was any wound, in its place was a livid puckered scar. He looked at the fountain with renewed wonder. An inscription around the lip read _The best techniques are passed on by the survivors._ Shaking his head in bemusement the youth turned and headed further into the Bloodworks.

"You surprised me whelp." Owyn said with his trademark scowl. "I'll be the first to admit. Don't go getting a swollen head though. If the squirrel Elf almost took your head off then I'm still convinced you don't belong here."

"To Oblivion with you old man." The youth replied with a scowl of his own. Owyn chuckled briefly at and produced a small pouch of coins. He looked at the younger Redguard with the faintest trace of pride in his eyes.

"You've got balls at least." Owyn said tossing the pouch up and catching. "But balls don't win fights. Skills do. And that you don't have. If you insist on playing hardball I strongly suggest you start training. I promise you that your next fight won't be so easy. Last chance to take your money and quit while your ahead."

"No." The youth answered fiercely. "I'm leaving this place two ways. As Grand Champion or as a corpse."

For once Owyn did not reply scathingly. It was a boast that he had heard from a thousand combatants but from this young Redguard before him it sounded different. There was definitely more to this one that met the eye.

"We shall see." The blademaster said tossing the youth the coin pouch. "Fifty septims. Don't spend them all in one place."

The boy caught it eagerly. It was not much but it would be enough to get a decent helmet and if he was thrifty enough maybe a second hand shield. He turned to leave but Owyn stopped him.

"What's your name whelp?"

It was not a question that the blademaster usually asked. The names of pitdogs mattered little to him because they died as quickly as he learnt those names, but this youth had him curious.

The youth turned back and observed the blademaster for a second before answering.

"My name is Hazim."

With that the young Redguard turned and exited the room leaving the blademaster still staring at his wake with wry amusement.

* * *

**((I know its probably loaded with typos though I tried to get them all, I'm not the best editor. Bear with me. ^.^So that bring us to the end of the first chapter. Never meant for it to be so long but I was writing like a man possessed. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Again feel free to suggest your OC gladiator so I can implement them. There's guts and glory aplenty to go around. :3. Read, Enjoy, and review))**


	2. Bar Room Brawl

**Time for a second installment in Hazim's tale. This one deviates from the arena ground for a bit but a story arc came to me on sudden inspiration, one that I'm dying to try out. This chapter like the first is rather long but bear with me, I don't have many more long chapters left in me. :p. Without further ado here we go. **

* * *

For a few seconds the clamor of sword upon sword was absent from the Imperial Arena as the two combatants stood breathing heavily and observing each other with keen eyes. The bloodthirsty citizens in the observer decks muttered angrily and jeered, impatient for the maiming and death that they had come to view. The two men were immune to their discontent. They glared at each other, facing off like two male lions. The duo had been fighting furiously for an hour, neither giving nor asking any quarter, and it showed. Their armor displayed cruel hacks and their helmets horrible dents, the swords of both man were also dinged and pitted.

Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes but Hazim dared not take a second to wipe it away. Any distraction could be fatal. His grip on his sword was slippery from the sweat on his palm and the arm attached to that palm felt like a hundred stones from fatigue. He sidestepped to the left; a few feet away his opponent mirrored the move.

"What is your name, Redguard?" The Imperial suddenly called out in his gruff voice. "I would know the name of so valiant a warrior."

Hazim stared at him for a second his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Hazim...of Water's Edge." Hazim answered him grudgingly.

"Hazim of Water's Edge," The Imperial said a grave tone of voice. "Know that it was Marius Aquila that sent you to Arkay's embrace."

With that Marius gave a bestial roar and leapt forward closing the distance, his longsword humming through the air in a deadly arc for Hazim's head. With the uncanny quickness of the warrior race Hazim ducked under the blow. He gave a shout of his own as he lashed out with his sword, a great diagonal slash that would have torn Marius from left hip to right shoulder had it landed. Unfortunately the Imperial had seen it coming and parried the blow with his own weapon. The two swords met and locked with teeth jarring force. Both wielders struggled red-faced and panting for a moment as they pitted their strength. Then without warning Marius lashed out with a foot. Agony coursed through Hazim's right leg as the Imperial's ironshod foot crunched directly upon his unprotected shin with a very ominous crack. Hazim staggered back breaking the engagement with his eyes watering from the pain.

Marius lost not a second in pressing the advantage. He stepped forward and began raining down blows upon Hazim's head. Had Marius been fresh it would have been enough to overwhelm the younger warrior but exhausted as he was Hazim was able to stand firm and block every blow. The exchange went on for a few seconds and then with another earsplitting yell Marius brought his blade around for one last strike which carried behind it all his power. Hazim's sword flew up to intercept it before it could impact flesh. A thunderous clang once again resounded throughout the arena and Marius staggered back, stunned and clutching a broken sword hilt.

It was the moment that Hazim had been awaiting. The Redguard's face morphed into a silent snarl as he lunged forward, putting all the force of his powerful body and the last reserves of his stamina behind a strike as irresistible as a lightning bolt. Even the heavy gladiator armor that Marius wore was no match for the finely wrought silver and tigerish strength which powered it. The blade sliced through cuirass like a knife through butter, pushed on to pierce heart, and exited on the other side dripping blood. Marius face first showed surprise then a brief spat of pain before it went slack as Arkay reached out to claim his soul.

The noise from the crowd was deafening as Hazim claimed another victory. For the first time ever the young Redguard ignored their adoration. Instead of raising his bloody sword in salute as he would usually do upon a victory, he gently eased the deceased Marius from his sword and lowered him to the ground. Even in death the Imperial's face had regain every inch of its nobility. Hazim gingerly closed the unseeing eyes. Suddenly he was assaulted by weariness; he was more tired than he had ever been after any of his four previous battles.

_"There we have it spectators! Once again the Blue Team's newest pitdog stuns us all with another upset win! From the sound of the crowd he is fast becoming a favorite. Combatant! Return to your quarters for rest. You've earned it." _

Hazim gave one last troubled look at the noble Imperial who was now a lifeless corpse on the pink sands. He knew that in every likelihood unless the man had family he would end up in a small grave in the arena section of the cemetery, unmarked and unlamented. Such a honorable warrior deserved better in Hazim's opinion. Marius was the first opponent that had come at Hazim as a fellow warrior and not just an enemy. He deserved better. The young Redguard eventually rose to his feet, sheathed his sword, and limped his way back towards the Bloodworks. He did not enjoy this victory half as much as he thought he would even though it had been his hardest won yet. He was glad when he exited the arena for the tunnel leading back to the bloodwork, he was glad when the glaring sun and cheering crowd was replaced by cool gloominess. In pain from a half dozen bruises where his armor had done its job in addition to what he was sure was a fractured shin, all he really wanted was the healing waters of the Basin of Renewal and then a cup of cold mead to chase away the remaining ache. Not to mention chase away his troubled thoughts.

"Well, well." A snide feminine voice sounded out in a tone of obvious contempt. "The blue team's newest worm claims another victory."

Hazim snapped out of his reverie cursing himself for the lapse. Coming towards him was the large Nord woman that he had encountered alongside Owyn three weeks ago when he had first come to the Bloodworks seeking to join. Her name, he knew now, was Brumhilda. Most knew her as the Iron Maiden and for good reason. In battle she was as unyielding and implacable as they came. Brumhilda was as cold as her homeland and had no love for anyone or anything beside her steel longsword which she had lovingly nicknamed Bjorn.

Hazim glared up at the larger woman wondering how he could have ever missed her even in his distracted state. She smirked at him and with a lighting fast movement drew her blade. Hazim had moved as soon as he saw her moving but his sword was only halfway from his sheathe when Brumhilda's was already in hand. The Redguard gaped in amazed disbelief at the awesome display of quickness. Few were the men that could match a Redguard for sheer speed, fewer still were they that could best one. A chill ran down Hazim's spine when the Nord woman held her sword up so that the gleaming blade reflected the meager torch light in the tunnel. Combatants were forbidden from fighting outside of the arena pit but from what Hazim had learned that did not trouble Brumhilda at all. It was well known that she had killed several combatants from both her own team and the blue team. Her position as a crowd favorite as well as her own battle prowess had seen that Owyn could do little more than relocate her from the yellow team bloodworks; and into the blue where he could keep a closer eye on her. Needless to say none of the combatants in the blue team were overjoyed about the situation.

With a sinking feeling Hazim realized that If Brumhilda decided to attack him there in his present condition there was nothing he could do to not meet Arkay prematurely.

"Beautiful isn't he?" She said with a very menacing smile as she observed the way the scarlet torch light glinted off the flat of her flawless blade. With a flick of hand she reversed it so the opposite flat was showing. The other side was not flawless. Several minute diagonal scratches ran the width of the blade arranged in sets of fives. Hazim tried to do a quick count of the scratches, he stopped at fifty five.

"Every notch the death of a hopeful champion." Brumhilda informed him. She laughed gruffly at the look on Hazim's face. "I go to claim yet another notch."

The Iron Maiden then smoothly stepped forward and flicked her sword towards Hazim in a precise and controlled motion. Battered as he was the Redguard was far too slow to react. He stiffened completely when he felt cold metal biting into the skin of his neck. Hazim's enraged black eyes locked with the Nord's cool blue ones.

"Maybe if you survive long enough to be more than an insignificant dot, someday I'll scratch a notch for you too."

Then just like that Brumhilda's sword returned to it's sheathe and she pushed past the bewildered Redguard as if though nothing had happened. Hazim watched her walking away, a slight cut on the neck that was running a tiny rivulet of blood now added to his repertoire of injuries.

* * *

"Not a bad fight kid." Owyn greeted Hazim as soon as he stepped into the sideroom now fully refreshed and injury free. The older Redguard was dressed in his usual platemail, his sword as ever at his side, and his trademark scowl firmly in place. "You're definitely not the same country munchkin that crawled in here a couple weeks ago. You're still a munchkin though, pit dog. Don't get overconfident. You're still as green as a Wood Elf's small cloths."

Hazim snorted and gave a terse nod of his head. Over the past couple weeks he had learned to not take Owyn's sharp manner to heart. He still had the urge to run Owyn through for every insult but now the urge was not overpowering. He had noted that the aged blademaster was rude to everyone except the old lady, Ysabel Andronicus, so taking too much offense would be childish.

"The usual take." Owyn continued removing a pouch of gold coins from a sack at his side after a few seconds of rummaging. He tossed the pouch over to Hazim who caught it effortlessly. Hazim grinned, the septims clinking inside was clamoring to be spent. "Go out. Have a good hot meal and a couple drinks and maybe even a woman. Enjoy yourself. Because your next fight will almost certainly be your last."

"We shall see." Hazim replied quietly but with a bloody smile. He attached the pouch to his belt before leaving.

As he had expected a retinue of people were awaiting him in the larger practice room. But what he had not expected was for the retinue to be larger than normal. Instead of the usual two people that greeted him after every fight there were five. As soon as the little group spotted Hazim they immediately began cheering and whistling loudly. Oriel Danrendys reached up and clapped an arm around Hazim's shoulders. Oriel was dressed in the clothing he always used when he was not in gladiator attire, a green hunting shirt, brown trousers, and worn black leather boots. His famous bow and arrows rested upon his back. The Redguard grinned down at the smaller Dark Elf. Hazim had been assigned a sleeping bag next to Oriel's after his very first match. The two had immediately taken to each other like long last brothers. In Hazim's view Oriel possessed a joie de vive and natural friendliness that simply made him a joy to be around. The Dunmer''s jovial nature was completely offset by his ferocity in the pit, his unorthodox practice of archery and unarmed combat had sent many yellow team combatants to a premature end.

"Glad to still count you among the living brother!" Oriel boomed out. "I was watching. I must admit you had me shaken. I was certain that old Aquila would be wiping the last remnants of you from his blade right now. Not a pretty thought, not the least bit because it would have cost me a fair amount of gold."

The assembled warriors all boomed with laughter and Hazim joined them.

"Aye!" Sigrun shouted over the noise. "We wouldn't want you losing any of your precious gold now would we?"

The man was the other person in the room that Hazim felt he could call a friend. For a Nord Sigrun was relatively short, he stood at the same height as Oriel who was of a race naturally smaller than any of the races of Men. Oriel made up for his short stature in width, however. He was the stoutest man that Hazim had ever laid eyes on, with legs and arms like young tree trunks and a chest that was a keg. Sigrun had gold hair that fell in stylized braids to his neck and a full bushy beard of the same color. His face was craggy and haggard from a life of hardships and only one of his merry eyes was still cobalt blue, the other was nastily scarred and milky white. He was still dressed in his heavy raiment which bore streaks of dried blood, the great mace that was his primary weapon hung at his side and a pink substance which suspiciously resembled brain matter clung to that as well. Before Hazim, Sigurn had been the last person to join the Blue Team. He and Hazim had met as sparring partner and quickly struck up a fast friendship.

"Aye," Sigurn agreed grimly as he grasped Hazim's hand in congratulations. "You saved the Blue Team from complete humiliation."

"That you did." Oriel said sadly. "Sixteen bouts this day. With your victory and Sigurn's we took four."

"Four out of sixteen?" Hazim asked horrified.

"Aye," Said Oriel his eyes downcast. "We put a lot of good warriors in the ground this day. Octavian, Valinus, Marcus, Hakeem, Irvin, Brutus."

With each name Hazim winced. All were people that he was familiar with even though they might not have been friends. It was always the same after every day of fighting. Loosing brothers was always a hard thing but unavoidable. As always Hazim was glad his name was not added to the mounted list.

"Brightscales, Do'Vatar, Do'Khasha, Jo'Valacar, Riverrunner, Flavius."

At the conclusion of the list all of the assembled lapsed into respectfully silence. Hazim took the time observe the three newcomers. One was a Khajiit, female judging from the overlarge protrusion of breasts from the roughly spun brown dress that she wore. She was covered from head to the tip of her long sinewy tail in black fur. She noticed Hazim's scrutiny and quickly looked at him with large catlike amber eyes. Her long tapered ears and whiskers twitched. Hazim could not really tell the emotions of the beast races but he guessed that she was smiling at him from the wiggle of her pink nose and bearing of her teeth.

With a shrug he switched his attention to the two others. They were Orcs or he was Troll. The first stood almost a head above him putting them in the neighborhood of seven feet. His bulging muscles looked as if though they had been chiseled by a sculptor, the Orc looked strong enough to kill an ox with a single blow. His brutal face was heavily marked with tribal looking tattoos amd scarred and yellow tusk jutted from his powerful jaw. He had swarthy green skin that was marked with the same tribal tattoos of his face, his coarse wire like black hair was greased into a crest upon his head. His face was oddly clean-shaven. The big Orc was still dressed in his arena raiment as well and a large glowing obsidian battle axe was strapped to his back. He stared curiously at Hazim with yellow piggy eyes. Hazim shifted his attention to the other Orc.

The large Orc's kinsman was shorter than him and also considerably less muscular. The smaller of the Orcs also had chestnut colored skin and a shaven head. Hard black stubble covered his jowls and chin. He had blue eyes and tattoos on the face and arms identical to his larger companion. The smaller Orc was dressed in a brown leather tunic, black homespun trousers, and iron greaves. A bastard sword hung at his hip.

"Hazim," Oriel said after a few seconds when he noticed where the Redguard's attention was directed. "Meet a couple more of Blue Team's finest. The feline beauty over there goes by the name of Addava."

"This one is pleased to meet you." Addava said with a flicker of her ears. The Khajiit voice was almost a purr, she sounded exactly how Hazim would have expected a house cat to sound were it given the power of speech. Next Oriel waved a hand to the largest of the Orcs.

"That big pile of muscles and meanness is Bugdul gro Narzulbur and his little brother Dubuk gro Narzulbur."

The Orc brothers each grunted a greeting.

"Enough introductions." Sigurn said with a decisive clap of hand. "I'm thirsty! On this day we go to celebrate our victories and the lives of our fallen companions. Come! To the Bloated Float!"

* * *

The Bloated Float was packed to capacity as it was on most nights. Local residents from the Waterfront and a few brave souls from the city proper mixed and mingled with traveling adventurers, sell swords, and the notorious crew of the Maria Elena. The rough watering hole in the roughest part of the city did a better business than any of the inns located in the more affluent neighborhoods such as the King and Queen and Tiber Septim Hotel. Those who wished to keep their business away from the prying eyes of the Imperial Watch or those looking for watered down yet very affordable beer need not go any further than the boat turned inn. On that night the Bloated Float was particularly lively. It was the fifth of First Seed and the citizens were already feeling festive for the upcoming daylong celebration of First Planting which would be held on the seventh. In the Bloated Float the celebration had already begun.

A female bard stood off in one corner of the crowded room singing a lusty ballad about a prostitute's travails to the delight and applause from the mostly male patrons. Couples stomped around the hastily cleared space in the middle of the room in ungainly dance. Among them was Hazim. Severely inebriated the young Redguard spun a Dunmer female around with one hand in a dance while clutching a stein of ale in the other. His usual restrain was gone and he bellowed out along to the verses of the song much to the amusement of those surrounded him. His partner proved herself as quite the dancer not even allowing the long cutlass dangling at her waist to throw off her movements. When the bard's song was finished the crowd cheered and broke into raucous applause. The woman soon began a second number in answers to their cries of encore.

"Come on lets sit." The Dunmer female said taking Hazim by the hand. He looked at her blankly, her words taking a few seconds to register in his alcohol fumed brain, before allowing her to steer him off the dance floor. There were no more empty tables so the duo had to share with two ragged looking locals. Hazim was far too drunk to care.

"More ale!" He shouted out after downing the contents of his stein in one large gulp.

Inebriated as he was Hazim tried his best to focus as he scanned the room looking for his companions. In the hours that they had been in the Inn they had gradually separated and spread out across the room. The Orc brothers were easy enough to spot; they were in one corner off to the left locked in a drinking game against two burly looking Nords. Sigurn was two tables away bouncing a scantily clad tavern wench on his lap, he caught Hazim looking and with a wink he buried his great bearded face in between the girl's overlarge breasts. Hazim turned away from the display a tad bit embarrassed. Addava was still on the dance floor whirling around with a well dressed Redguard. Oriel was directly across the room seated at the bar and engaged in a conversation with an older surly faced Dunmer female.

"You be a drinking man if I've ever seen one." The Dunmer said with a laugh. "On the Marie Elena we have the hardiest of drinking men and I would say you can hold your own with the best."

Hazim looked at her through blearily eyes; he had already almost forgotten that she was there. He saw a wiry purple skinned crimson eyed woman with short ebony hair. Her breasts were nonexistent and the arms that showed from her frilly white shirt were toned and muscular. She was a warrior if Hazim had ever seen one. He flicked a glance down to the weathered and well used handle of the cutlass at her waist. There was the confirmation.

"The Marie Elena?" He mumbled in a daze. The word sounded familiar to him but he couldn't quite place it. Just at that moment the barkeeper Orvil brought him another stein of ale and he quickly decided that he no longer cared.

"The finest pirate ship sailing the Abecean Sea." She answered proudly. "With the finest crew to booth. I be the first mate."

"You're a pirate?" Hazim asked interestedly. He clumsily took another draught of the cool mead, savoring the way it burnt down his throat to form a warm pool in his belly.

"Not a pirate." Said the lady with a predatory smile. "The pirate. Malvulis the Bold! Wanted from the Summerset Isles to Skyrim."

Malvulis snatched up Hazim's mug and took a long sip of his ale before he could protest. She handed it back and gave a hearty burp. The Redguard examined the remaining contents with a pitiful expression.

"And what of you Redguard?"

"Hazim the Fearless I am called." Hazim announced loudly before taking another pull of mead. "Grand Champion of the Imperial Arena!"

"Really?" Malvulis arched her eyebrow. "When last I checked the Grand Champion was Agronak gro-Malog the Gray Prince, not Hazim the Fearless."

"Agronak will be Grand Champion not much longer now that Hazim has arrived." The Redguard said with certainty as he signaled for more ale.

"You must be quite the warrior to speak so boldly." Said Malvulis with a droll smile. "Or maybe you're just a lying braggart."

"Redguard do not lie." Hazim answered her hotly.

"And Dunmers can fly."

Hazim looked at her blankly woozily thinking back to when he had last seen Oriel fly. Malvulis caught the expression and snorted with laughter.

"You mock me." The Redguard said slowly, his anger rising like the tide.

Malvulis smoothly leaned forward and planted a long wet kiss on Hazim's lips. The Redguard looked at her cross-eyed, he was numbed with shock. She tasted good though, like spices and wine. From across the room Oriel released a hoot that was clearly audible above the noise of the inn, Hazim immediately went red. Malvulis leaned back smiling like a cat that had caught a bird.

"So grand champion to be." She whispered in a sultry voice. Her small but strong and calloused hand rested on his leg and began creeping up towards his thigh. Hazim shifted uncomfortably, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. "Think you can conquer a pirate the way you think you can conquer the arena?"

Before they could go any further a loud slurred voice interrupted them.

"You!"

Hazim was almost grateful as he turned to face the newcomer. He quickly reevaluated his stance however when he saw who it was. A large Imperial stood before him clad in yellow gladiator raiment. He had long black hair that he wore in a ponytail and his blue eyes were chips of ice as he glared at Hazim. The man's facial features, morphed into a grimace of hate as they were, were familiar. The Redguard observed him bewildered and desperately tried to place his face.

"You!" The man took an uncertain step forward. Liquor fumes wafted from him like smoke from a fire. A quick glance behind the Imperial showed Hazim that the Yellow Team combatant was not alone. Two more combatants, a brown skinned Redguard and a yellow haired Imperial, flanked him.

"Aye I'm me." Hazim said trying to sound bold. His eyes glanced from one man to the other. He did not like the way the situation was shaping up.

"Cheater!" The lead Imperial bellowed. He stabbed an accusing finger violently at Hazim. "Murderer!"

Hazim had no idea what the man was talking about but his tone and approach spoke for itself. Never one to back down from a fight Hazim immediately lurched to his foot. His vision was doubled and his limbs leaden but he stood firmly and scowling.

"No man calls me a cheat." The young Redguard growled.

"A young shit like you could never best Marius Aquila in fair combat." The Imperial snarled jabbing Hazim in the chest. "My brother was the best combatant the arena has ever seen! You could never beat him fair!"

The last words were shouted almost hysterically and the man ended by once again jabbing Hazim in the chest. The bard had stopped singing and slowly the noise in the inn died down as patrons caught wind of the encounter.

"Touch me again and you'll meet your brother." Hazim said slowly and softly. He fought to keep his temper in check but it was a losing battle. He had no desire to start a brawl in the middle of a crowded inn but if this snooty Imperial pushed him much further….

With a roar the brother of the late Marius Aquila lurched forward and pushed Hazim with all his might. The blow was unexpected and the Redguard's reflexes dulled by the copious amount of liquor that he had ingested. His feet left the floor and he went flying. He landed directly atop Malvulis who had been watching the following intently. The first mate swore as only a pirate could and roughly shoved him off. Hazim climbed back unto his feet with fire shining in his eyes.

"Come on Redguard scum!" The younger Aquila goaded. "Come on and see how you do in a real fight! I'll_"

Before he could say more Hazim stepped forward and struck him in the mouth with all his might. It was a beautiful blow, carrying behind it all of Hazim's body weight and his killing intent. The Imperial staggered back, stunned for only a moment. He rushed forward and grasped Hazim around the middle before the Redguard could push his attack. The duo went crashing into the table behind them; overturning it and sending mead, steins, two indignant locals, and a very infuriated Malvulis flying. In the background Orvil let out a howl of protests but Hazim was beyond caring. He and the Imperial wrestled furiously, each punching and kicking at every bit of the other that they could reach. In a few seconds the taller and stronger Hazim had gained an advantage.

He wiggled to the top of the yellow team combatant and managed to wrap his strong fingers around the man's neck. Aquila immediately gasped and went blue in the face; he stopped fighting and at once vainly grasped at the unyielding hands and fingers that sank deeply into the flesh of his neck. Hazim gave a bloody smile and slammed the man's head against the hardwood of the floor. From the corner of his eyes Hazim saw movement but once again was not fast enough to avoid it. Stars exploded in his eyes as a bottle crashed into his right temple. He fell to the side with pain searing through his head. Before he could even think about recovering a hard boot stomped down on his face snapping his nose like a twig. Almost simultaneously another unforgiving boot dug deeply into his side. He was kicked a few more times before the beating abruptly stopped. Through a pain filled daze Hazim was dimly aware of familiar shouts and battle calls. His friends had joined the fray.

He groggily managed to make his feet and had an instant to take in the sight of Sigurn and Oriel going hand to hand with the Yellow Team Redguard and blond haired Imperial before he was struck over the back of the head with a chair. Agony the likes of which he had never felt before ran through his body like lighting. Darkness danced around the edge of Hazim's vision and a funny taste was upon his tongue. He could do little more than turn unto his back to see who had struck him. He saw one of the men who had been sitting at the table along with him and Malvulis. The man did not look very happy.

"You owe me a drink!" He roared raising the chair for another blow. Hazim's eyes flickered to a spot behind the man shoulder. The stranger stiffened and began to turn but before he could finish the chair was snatched from his upturned hands and brought down upon his skull with so much force that the shoddily made furniture broke apart upon impact. The man sank to the floor like a pole axed pig. Bugdul winked at Hazim before leaping over him to join the fray. Hazim struggled to sit up and looked around, at first not understanding what was going on. The whole inn was up in arms, the results of introducing drunk fighting men to fighting. The conflict between Hazim and the younger Aquila had been the kindle to a full fledge forest fire. All around people were engaging in senseless acts of violence. The Marie Elena Pirates, never one to give up an opportunity, were the most gleeful as they at once made for the stacks of bottles behind the bar and began helping themselves much to Orvil's horror. The locals and civilians fled as fast as they could from the inn while the fighting men went at each other with fist, furniture, and steel. Overhead the air was thick with flying missiles ranging from chairs to cups to shoes.

Orvil, Hazim, Bugdul, Dubuk, and Addava were in the heart of it and all looked like they were having the time of their lives. All three yellow team combatants were unconscious or worst on the floor and the blue team members moved from opponent to opponent joyfully shouting insults and compliments to each other as they did what they loved to do. It took a long few seconds for Hazim to shake off the stupor that the double blows to the head had casted over him, seconds in which the common room of the inn was completely thrashed, but when he did he leapt to his feet beckoning for blood. Before he could quench his bloodlust however the double doors to the inn flew open and slammed against the walls with a very pronounced bang.

Heavy boots resounding upon hardwood floors heralded the entrance of six heavily armored and armed men. Five of them were dressed in well used but meticulously maintained iron plate mail. The sixth and obvious leader was clad in gilded silver mail with gold and precious stone inlay. He was a tall and imposing Imperial, made even more so by the fierce scowl on his handsome face. Immaculately groomed, not a tawny hair was out of place on his head and his silver and gold armor gleamed in the candlelight. The man caught Hazim's stare and returned it with a glare hot enough to melt iron, his cobalt blue eyes were almost flaming from the intensity. The mayhem in the room gradually tapered out and then came to a complete standstill. It was an incredibly stupid man that carried on his wrongdoing under the eyes of the Imperial Watch, even the hardened pirates and gladiators fidgeted under Watch Captain Hieronymus Lex's scrutiny.

"Stop right there criminal scums!" He shouted out, his voice was lordly and carried with it the unmistakable edge of one used to immediate obedience. "You have violated the law! You will pay the fine to the court or serve your sentence!"

Despite a lot of grumbling and muttering, especially at the word 'fine', there was no outward show of resistance. In the room were hardened murderers, mercenaries, thieves, and arena combatants but not a one of them thought themselves to be the match of the Imperial Legion in honest combat. There was a reason why the Legion was the single most deadly fighting force ever to tread upon the continent of Tamriel.

"You!" At the sharp voice Hazim quickly looked up from where he had been rummaging in his pockets trying to check his stock of septims. He found to his alarm that Lex was staring at him with a very peculiar expression, a cross between disbelieve and anger.

"Me?" Hazim asked quickly taking a step back. He had done no worst than any other man in the room. Fires of Oblivion he was the only innocent one in the room! It had been him who was attacked after all.

"Draw your blade." Lex demanded.

Hazim looked at him as if though he had lost his mind, not quite catching the watch captain's meaning.

"Draw your sword now!"

Hazim bewilderedly complied. Lex watched enraptured as the gleaming sword came free of the plain wooden scabbard inch by inch. The young Redguard was getting more alarmed by the second. His heart began thumping in his chest. He did not like the watch captain's scrutiny on his sword, not one bit. It was almost a minute of very uncomfortably silent before Lex spoke again.

"Watchmen," He ordered. "Round these scum up and take them to the Prison to be processed. I'll take care of this one," He jerked his head towards Hazim. "Personally."

Hazim forced himself not to swallow. That definitely did not bode well. Hazim's companions protested but they were ignored and marched from the room along with all the others. They gave Hazim sympathetic and shameful looks but they dared not raise weapons to the watch.

"Walk ahead." Lex said in a chill voice. "Back to the Temple District. Do you know the way?"

"I do." Hazim answered trying to reign in his fear.

"Don't try to flee." Lex warned. "You won't get far. Move."

Ignoring Ormil's hasty questions about compensation Hazim headed towards the door with Lex in tow. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that he wasn't going to like what came next one bit.

* * *

**Enter Hieronymus Lex. Everyone's favorite Watch Captain. And he's got a special bone to pick with Hazim as well. You can tell that things are about to get all types of intresting. :3.. I'm still looking for OC Arena faction characters who would like a cameo. Hazim would be honored to have them ass-kicking by his side. That's it for now. Until next time. As always. Read. Review. Enjoy. **


	3. By This Sword

**((Short Chapter. No maiming/killing/injury either. :/. Don't worry, we shall get right back to that the next chapter. Did This mainly to get in place a future plot-line. You guessed it, where there is Lex there's Thieves' Guild about. Read and Review Please! I'm pulling in a hundred and odd views between both chapters but no one reviews. D:. I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Well enough bellyaching, unto the chapter!)) **

The Guard Captain's quarters were Spartan at best. A writing desk stacked with quills, papers, and leaflets was pressed up against one wall. A canopy bed was pressed up against another. The only other furniture was a bedside table, wardrobe, and an armor holder in the shape of a male torso. There was a single window that let in the silvery moonlight. No carpets, wall hangings, or any other type of decorations. Lex's life was one of practicality.

For the first time since they had left the Waterfront District Hieronymus Lex pushed pass Hazim, he entered the room and within a few seconds two lit wall torches added further illumination. Then Lex very slowly and deliberately crossed over to the window. The young Redguard watched him with wide eyes and shifted uncomfortably. He was nervous. In fact, to say that he was nervous was an understatement. When the Guard Captain had stated that he would take special charge of Hazim back in waterfront the youth had not been expecting to be led back to the private quarters of Lex. He was not aware of the ins and outs of Imperial Watch guidelines but he was sure this was not very normal. Lex stood in front of the window staring out at the temple district which was sprawled out below.

"Come here." Lex spoke out without turning. His voice was odd, it trembled with barely restrained…..what? Anger? Excitement? Hazim couldn't tell. The Redguard once again considered making a run for it as he had every few minutes during their long walk to this destination. Once again he decided against it. Two floors worth of Imperial Watchmen stood between him and the exit. Decking Lex with his back turn and jumping through the window wouldn't be very good for his health either, not with the ground three stories below. No, he was trapped and they both knew it. Hazim's only solace was that the mystery to this would soon become clear. He took in a deep breath and released it before he walked across the room to join Lex at the window.

The view was stunning. It was as different from the waterfront as night was from day. In the temple district there were no mud paths, hovels, and garbage stacked waist high in the street. In the Temple District it was all well maintained cobble streets, perfectly manicured lawns, and high rise houses of gleaming white marble. The ancient Temple of the One rose like a dark colossal in the distance; it was dwarfed only by the White Gold Tower which was the largest building in Cyrodill and in fact the known world. As late as the hour was the street lamps lining the street were all lighted making the Temple District almost as brightly lit as if it were day.

"Beautiful is it not?" Lex said after a few seconds. He waved his hand to encompass the entirety of the sight below. Hazim found himself privately agreeing.

"Seven years have I spent protecting it all." Lex continued. "Five as a Watchmen and the last two as Captain. It was only as captain did I see exactly how deep the talons of evil has clutched this, the greatest city in Tamriel."

Hazim gaped at him wordlessly and bewildered, wondering where he was going. He almost felt like demanding that the man clap him in irons already if that was his game. Was all this conversation and buildup a sort of mental torture to soften him up for questioning? Questioning about what though? Hazim uneasily shifted when his thoughts drifted back to the sword at his hip. It was about the sword. No matter how hard he had tried to deny it he knew it was true. Lex knew about the sword. Hazim gulped and thought back to that fateful day that he had acquired the weapon.  
-

_It was the fifteenth of Last Seed and the heights of harvest. Ten year old Hazim knew that he should be back in the fields surrounding the village and helping his adopted father with the corn reaping but at that particular moment he didn't care. There would be hell to pay for his hooky when he returned but Hazim cared for that neither. It was too beautiful a day to spend sequestered in a field. The sun smiled down warmly and a brisk wind kept her rays from being too hot. All the apple trees within sight were gold and crimson with ripe fruit and the air was heavily fragranced. Birds sung their merry song to match the tune in Hazim's heart as he streaked barefooted across the cool grass. His plan was simple; he would skip away for a bit, just over the hills, have a few hours of fun and then return with some apples. A brilliant plan if he didn't say so himself. The boy grinned at his own genius and continued to skip along. A few more minutes brought him to the grassy dunes that were his favorite haunt. Over them there was a little rocky inlet far enough away from the busy village that it would be private for the moment. Hazim scrambled up the dune anticipating a swim in the cool and refreshing water. Upon reaching the apex of the hill he froze and all thoughts of swimming fled from his head._

_ The clean blue water of the inlet was red with blood. Bodies lapped lazily at the beach and thrashing and churning in the water informed that the slaughterfish had already started their grisly feast. Even as Hazim watched enthralled even more bodies drifted lazily down from the Nibben Bay, more slaughterfish trailing eagerly in tow. How long he stood there in numbed disbelief Hazim did not know but eventually he made his way down in a daze. The closer he got the more it seemed like a dream. The blood in the water was so bright and the bodies so pale in their pallor that it couldn't possibly be real. It was the first time that Hazim had seen death so personal but even he could tell that these corpses were still fresh. He offhandedly wondered where they had drifted from. His eyes locked on a particular body._

_It took a moment for him to realize exactly what it was that had caught his attention: That body was untouched by the Slaughterfish. It was the body of a man, dignified even in death. His noble face appeared to be at peace despite the ashen touch of Arkay. His gold encrusted armor bore a signature device, a dragon perched upon a spear. A naked sword gleamed upon the yellow sand at the bottom of the inlet not far from the man's limp hand. It was the most magnificent weapon Hazim had ever seen. The blade of the weapon was engraved silver and the hilt was bejeweled gold. Even to Hazim's untrained eyes the weapon had to be worth a king's ransom. He hesitated for the briefest instance before leaping into the water slaughterfish be damned. _

"The sword you carry," Lex's voice sounded out sharp as a whip, bringing Hazim crashing back from his reverie. "I know it. I know where you came by it."

He turned to face Hazim directly; his blue eyes met and scrutinized Hazim's black eyes intensely. The Redguard met the gaze and tried his best not to give away his racing heart; he was intent on keeping his composure up to the very last.

"Draw the blade." Lex growled out.

Seeing no other choice Hazim did as he was bid. With a trembling hand he bared the three and a half foot shining silver blade to the world. Lex looked at the blade for a few long seconds and his face gradually took on a reverent appearance.

"The sword Avenger." He said in a low awed voice. "There can be no mistake. I knew it from the hilt but I had to be sure. This sword belongs to Hercules Romanus, Knight of the Imperial Dragon and Champion of Colovia."

Hazim didn't meet Lex's eyes, intent on not showing the surprise that he felt upon learning the name of the sword's previous owner. He felt a bit funny. He had been using the sword for years and never once did he give a thought to the name of the previous owner.

"How came you by Hercules's sword boy?" Lex asked shortly. Hazim was speaking before he had even given it conscious thought.

"He gave it to me before he died."

Hieronymus Lex looked at Hazim in slack jawed astonishment. Several seconds past before the ability of speech returned to him.

"How?" He managed to stammer out.

"Pirates." Hazim fabricated quickly. "Off the west coast of the Nibben Bay. There were no other survivors but myself."

"I thought as much." Lex said with a deep sigh. "Hercules had particular enmity for those who made their fortune upon others' misfortune. He hunted down thieves of any type at every opportunity. He was a great man."

Lex lapsed into a thoughtful silence while Hazim regarded his good fortune at having guessed a likely story that Lex accepted so readily. He began to imagine that maybe just maybe he could pull this off.

"There is no need to ask who you are of course." Lex said suddenly. "Many knew Hercules Romanus only as a hero of the Imperial Army. But I am one of the few who knows him as more. We both belong to the secret order, the Hammer of Akatosh. A noble fraternity dedicated to the eradication of crime here in Cyrodill. Hercules was a bastion against crime and evil in Cyrodill. The fact that he gave you his sword can only mean one thing: that he chose you as his heir."

Hazim remained quiet. He was unsure of what to say. Mentally he cursed himself. This was the problem with lying, it always got complicated. If there was one thing Hazim hated it were complications. He was a warrior of a warrior race born and bred, intrigue held no place in his life. He knew he was getting in way too deep. He had to say something, he had to let Lex know that it was all one big misunderstanding. Yet he found himself unable to speak.

"Akatosh works in mysterious ways." Lex continued. "It was not a fortnight ago that I sent off a message through the channels to Hercules. Yet none knew where to locate him. He has been missing for years but that in itself was not so unusual, its not the first time he has left Cyrodill for parts unknown. I crossed my fingers and hoped he would turn up soon. Now it seem the mystery is answered."

From the way he said 'channels' Hazim had the sinking feeling that he was suppose to know exactly what Lex was speaking about. As was his manner when he had nothing to say he kept his mouth firmly closed, that way he lessened the chances of making an incredibly stupid remark that would dig him deeper into the hole. It was a hard learned skill that he had acquire in childhood.

"It was through Hercules's maneuvering that I was stationed here at Imperial City. We both suspected it to be the home base of one of Cyrodill's most malignant organizations, but the situation here in Imperial City was far worse than either of us could have ever imagined."

He once again casted his keen eyes over Hazim causing the youth to squirm uncomfortably. Once again Hazim wondered where all of this was going and was really wishing he had just been slapped into the holding cells along with the other gladiators for brawling.

"Hear me well, The Thieves' Guild not only exists but they are based here! In the Imperial City Waterfront!"

"Thieves' Guild?" Hazim blurted out bewildered before he could stop himself.

"Yes!" Lex almost shouted and banged a fist down upon the windowsill in his passion. "The Thieves Guild! They are real and they are here! That's why you are here now at this time when I'm just about to make a breakthrough! You're here to help me take them down!"

Hazim stepped back uncertainly, the fervent light burning in Hieronymus Lex's eyes scaring him more than any opponent he had ever faced on the arena sands. Once again he found himself unable to say anything thought his mind was whirling with quite a lot. The first and foremost thought was that the seemingly steadfast and solid guard captain was completely insane. The Thieves' Guild was a myth; it was about as real as floating cities and monkeymen. Though Hazim knew that every legend had some basis in truth he couldn't accept the idea of a coalition of thieves all working towards a common purpose. Thieves were a cowardly selfish and honor less lot hence the reason that they were thieves, a group made up of members of such constitution simply could not exist.

"I can see it all now." Lex continued on excitedly. "You're Hercules's chosen champion, a noble warrior dedicated to the eradication of evil as well! Your cover as gladiator combatant was perfectly chosen to get you in deep with all the unsavory of Imperial City. Already you are perfectly placed to infiltrate the Thieves' Guild. Your timing could not have been better, brother."

"I_I_I don't know what you are talking about." Hazim managed to stutter out. This was going way too far. He had to put an end to it. "There has been some horrible mistake. I_"

Lex quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I understand," The Guard Captain said with an empathetic nod of head. "Hercules belonged to a dozen secret societies dedicated to justice and some of them clothed in even more secrecy than the Hammer of Akatosh. Fear not brother, I will not push you for details."

He leaned forward and gripped Hazim's shoulder tightly with a hand while peering deeply into the youth's eyes.

"No longer will Thieves terrorize this great city at whim. No longer will they run amuck unmolested. Together you and I shall take down the Thieves Guild or we shall die trying!"

Hazim opened his mouth to protest but Lex pushed on without pause.

"About your transgression, consider it forgotten."

That shut Hazim up quickly. Was it possible that he would get out of this so easily? He could hardly believe it.

"While you did break the law I know that you only did it to gain the confidence of the rouges that frequented that pub and thus get one step closer to infiltrating the guild."

Hazim quickly nodded in agreement. It was not the noblest thing to do, taking advantage of the captain's trust but if he was in this deep already and could get off without paying a hefty fine from his scant purse at least then he saw no lost. From his grip on Hazim's shoulder Lex gently steered the younger man to the door.

"Its unfortunate that in the pursuit for justice we must sometimes cross the line to petty villainy." The captain bemoaned. "But by far the lesser of two evils. I've kept you long enough heir. Before you go though I must warn you against any direct actions against the Guild. I cannot begin to stress that you not do anything that will arise their suspicion. I've planned the first strike against them in little over a fortnight and now that you are here you shall play a very integral part."

He gave Hazim a wide eager grin. The younger tried his best to return the look for sake of appearances but his upper lip only quivered.

"Go now. I shall be in touch…..combatant." The last was said humorously and Lex added a wink before gently shutting his door in Hazim's face. The young Redguard stood there numbed for almost a full minute before finally turning around and leaving. It was definitely shaping out to be an odd day.

**((There we have it! Another installment. As I said we shall dive right back into the blood and guts next chapter so stay tune. and review me too! That's important. Until next time.))**


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